


Asymptote

by destinae



Category: American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: I'm going to hell and taking all of you with me, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5293016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destinae/pseuds/destinae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An asymptote is described as two lines who can only get closer and closer, but will never touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm publishing the first five chapters on Thanksgiving because if you didn't have something to be thankful for before, you sure as hell do now. Go gorge yourself on some poultry, my friends.

    It was Alexander Hamilton’s first day of work, and he was terrified.

    Within reason, he had every right to be.

    After all, it’s not every day that a well-written report gets an entry-level employee transferred from an entry-level job at an offshore location of a publishing company to the corporate headquarters in New York City, despite an astute lack of qualifications to hold the position to begin with.

    Yes, it was a very unique situation in which Alexander Hamilton presently found himself, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was fond of it or not yet. Superficially, he was absolutely enamored by the turn of fate. After all, he was sure that any of his coworkers would have killed to have the great fortune that Alexander found himself in, especially since the specific location at which he had worked had been shut down not long after he had received news about the transfer.

    Maybe, if he had been a bit more naive, Alexander might have chalked up the whole affair to luck. However, he knew the unfortunate truth: there was absolutely no such thing as luck, just a combination of talent and being in the right place at the right time. Thus, fate’s stars aligned perfectly for the young Hamilton, and he had found his way into the big apple.

    And it had been nice. Because his previous job was so low-paying, the company had put in an extra pension to cover living expenses for the first year that Alexander worked at the company. This meant that he was able to afford a studio flat in East Village, as well as the commute it mandated. Granted, having to get up nearly two hours early for work every day was exhausting, but it paid off. After all, the people he worked for seemed to have taken quite the liking to him.

    Of course, this had to be taken into stride, as Alexander had only met one of his supervisors.

    His name was George Washington, and he was awesome.

    The young executive was the CFO of the publishing company, but seemed way too laid back for anyone who worked with that much money. He was tall and built, the kind of guy that probably could have played basketball if not for his soft voice and patient nature. Even when Alexander had been nearly ten minutes late arriving from the airport for his meeting with Washington, the CFO hadn’t even batted an eyelid. In fact, he’d offered to move the meeting to another day altogether so that Alexander could get more oriented with his surroundings.

    Granted, Alexander had turned down the offer, but the principle was the important part.

    Washington was very welcome to Alexander, offering him a plethora of drinks and snacks because airplane food is cardboard that’s been breaded and shrink-wrapped, Hamilton. The meeting itself had been brief. Washington had taken Alexander on a tour of the office where he would be working, and showed him around some of the amenities that the office provided (including but not limited to: a massage room, a small sauna, an underground tennis court, and at least two personal movie theatres). Evidently, working high up had its perks.

    At the end of the tour, Washington had presented Alexander with a manila envelope of IDs, papers, and rules that he’d have to deal with once he got back to his apartment, as well as a plastic bag with various mugs and post-its bearing the company’s logo: American Publishing. It was charmingly vague, and Alexander was head over heels for it. After all, how could it leave a bad taste in his mouth when he’d already gotten a free baseball cap? In all honesty, things were coming up Hamilton, and he was willing to suspend his disbelief for a bit and tell himself that nothing could go wrong.

    It worked for the rest of the evening. On his way home, Alexander picked up some falafel because 1) he’d never had any before and 2) it had a funny name, and practically inhaled it on the subway ride back to his place. By the time he was actually in his apartment, the young (and new) Director of Market Operations was ready to collapse in the doorway and fall asleep on the floor. Instead, however, he brewed a cup of coffee on his Keurig--- which was, he reminded himself, a housewarming gift from the company--- and drank it while he went through the manilla envelope. The ID had his name, age, and department listed on it, and was inside a little plastic sleeve which Alexander knew he’d have to clip to his suit.

    Suit.

    Because he only owned one.

    The company couldn’t pay for everything.

    After the ID were a few non-disclosure agreements and such that he’d have to put his name on. After that, however, he found a small sealed envelope. Setting down the manila envelope, he opened up the note he’d found inside and found that it was a typed letter. It read:

  


                    Hello Mr. Hamilton:

 

                In case you may not remember who I am, my name is George Washington. I am the Corporate Financial Officer for AP (it’s what we call American Publishing around here; nothing personal, the name just doesn’t roll of the tongue), and I’m glad to say that I will be working personally with you for your first few months as an employee at AP to make sure your transition to your corporate position is smooth and easy.

                Since you start work tomorrow, I would like to make you aware of some company policies since-- let’s be entirely honest with one another-- you did not read the entire handbook:

 

  1. You are paid on salary. You pick up your paycheck every two weeks from me, and only me.

  2. You make your own schedule. While we do have minimum “office hours”, we do not regulate what you do during your time at our office. Every week or month, you are assigned a task, and must complete it by the assigned deadline.

  3. There is a zero sexual harassment policy in our workplace. All reports are taken seriously.

  4. The company is here for you 24/7. At the bottom of this letter is a list of emergency numbers you can utilize, even when you are off shift.




       

                Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I’d like to express my personal gratitude in your patience with this transition in our company. Thank you.

 

                                                                                                   All Due Respect,

                                                                                                       George Washington

                                                                                                       CFO, American Publishing

 

       

    Alexander set down the letter and ran a hand through his hair. He had a real job, for a real company. He was being paid a salary, and he had access to personal theatres at any time during the day. It was surreal.

    He punctuated the thought with another sip of coffee.

    What the letter hadn’t mentioned was that his hire was probationary. This was saved for the final piece of paper in the envelope, which contained a long contract that essentially stated that his contract could be terminated at any time, and in that case, he could go fuck himself. But in business jargon. It was a bit jarring after the warm welcome he’d received, but Alexander remembered what he’d told himself during the tour. Everything he saw was just the surface of the deep pool of corporate employment. He had a lot coming his way, and this was just the beginning.

    Deciding he was finished being professional, Alexander took off his polo shirt, tossing it on the floor of the kitchen because fuck you he’s Alexander goddamn Hamilton and collapsed onto the thin mattress he’d bought for his apartment. It didn’t even have any sheets on it, but he couldn’t bring himself to be bothered. Instead, he took out his phone and checked his unread emails.

    They were mostly newsletters from various news sites, telling him about whatever kinda-celebrity was on their way up for dating a definitely-celebrity, but one stood out. It was titled:

 

_ORIENTATION LUNCH_

 

    So, of course, he opened it.

    Another letter.

    Not interested in being bored by another letter, Alexander skimmed it. The next day, a couple of people who already worked for the company were hosting a lunch for the new employees. Alexander was somewhat pleased at the implication that he wasn’t the only new hire, and got out of the bed to make a note in his (AP) planner with his (AP) pen. He closed it and set it on his briefcase before practically jettisoning himself onto the mattress and plugging in his phone at the strategically placed outlet by his bed and dozing off to sleep.

 

    He had high hopes and big plans, and the world sure as hell wasn’t about to let him down.


	2. Chapter 2

    Alexander woke up to the sound of chimes.

    Well, digital chimes. His alarm was going off.

    Groggily, Alexander unlocked his phone, turning off the alarm and literally rolling off of his bed and sitting up with a groan. The sun was almost antagonistically shining through the curtains that Alexander had of course forgotten to close before collapsing into bed, and the belt on his pants was digging obnoxiously into his skin.

    One of those things was an easy fix.

    As soon as Alexander had taken off his belt, he stumbled towards his suitcase, which lie open across the small open space, and unpacked his suit.

    His only suit.

    And he put it on. The thing was a bit ill-fitting, small and close-cut and flattering to his frame but only out of fortune, but it fit. He clipped on his ID, brewing another cup of coffee (using the mug from the night before, which he hadn’t washed) and taking the roughly three steps it took to cross his studio and enter the sad excuse for the bathroom that it hosted.

    Well, “worse for wear” was generous. Alexander’s reflection was pale, dark circles under his eyes and hair curling in every direction physically possible. God, he really needed a haircut. Having such long hair made him look four years younger, and of course, being young was possibly the most unprofessional thing someone in a corporate position could do.

    So he raked a comb through his thick and unforgiving hair, forcing the curls into submission until he looked at least remotely acceptable. And even then, a few stray wisps betrayed his otherwise-coordinated look. Alexander poured his coffee into his American Publishing mug, screwing on the lid and nearly flying out the front door of his apartment to make the subway.

    It was only by the grace of whatever God may or may not have existed at the time that Alexander didn’t spill any of the sinfully hot coffee down the front of his definitely not-replaceable button up shirt. He did, however, burn his tongue and throat. Because he was a professional.

    As he spilled out of the bus alongside a dozen other suits with much more well-managed hair than him, Alexander took a quick inventory of the things he had to get done. The first thing he had to do was set up his office. While it came with the furniture that the rest of the office had (white, minimalist shit that cost way more than it ought to), Alexander knew that he’d look like an absolute dunce without at least some degree of customization to it.

    Besides, it’d make it harder to fire him if getting rid of him meant having to actually clean the office.

    At least, that’s what he liked to think.

    The building rose way higher than any publisher’s really should have. It looked much bigger during the day, with the sun wrapping its neon claws around the beige shape of the tower. Alexander finally turned his gaze down to the doors in front of him and walked in, greeted by a rush of AC that was almost welcome after the overwhelming rush of the New York streets. Buttoning his jacket and adjusting the tie Alexander was fairly certain he’d put on incorrectly, he pressed the number 6 on the panel next to the elevator, and waited for the doors to open.

    In the few moments that he waited for the doors, another man walked up next to him and looking roughly the same age as Alexander. He had olive skin and black hair, cropped close to his head. Alexander didn’t realize he was staring until the guy looked at him and offered a soft smile, eyes grazing down Alexander’s figure until it saw the badge.

    “You work for AP?” He asked, eyes brightening as he spoke in what Alexander could swear was a hint of a southern twang,  “So do I! You must be the new guy-- not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just that everyone’s been talking to you. Holy cow, welcome to the company. I’m John, I work as an assistant to the CFO. Have you met him? He’s a tall guy, very genial but also a little too paternal at times.”

    Alexander was reeling from the word-vomit that filled the air between them, and took a swig of his coffee before saying, “Yeah. Washington gave me a tour of the office yesterday, actually. It’s gorgeous.” He said, forcing a small smile.

    “Oh, great. That’s awesome.”

    The doors to the elevator opened and the two walked in.

    “Is it true that you got transferred here right before your previous location got shut down?” John asked suddenly.

    With a small shrug, Alexander fiddled with the lid of his coffee mug. “Yeah.”

    “What, was that too close to home?” John asked, pursing his lips. “I’m sorry. It’s just-- some of the guys, uh, some of the guys have been talking pretty highly about you and I wanted to know if it’s all true.” He said, motioning almost desperately with his hands.

    “It is.” Alexander replied. “Actually, it’s not even the most interesting part.”

    A soft chuckle from John. “Then what is?”

    “What’s happening right now.”

    This elicited a delighted look from John, who adjusted his briefcase before saying, “You know, I think the guys are really gonna like you.”

    “That’s good.” Alexander said.

    “Well, let me finish. There is one guy who’s got it out for everyone. He’s not too bad to talk to, but he’s crazy competitive. I kinda feel like I’ve got to tell you, especially since you’re new. Basically, this guy--” John paused as the doors opened to the floor the two of them worked on, walking out with Alexander. He glanced around before lowering his voice. “You know what? He’s hard to miss. Just be careful. Some people aren’t looking to make friends. Here, take my card--” John fished around in his suit before pulling out a folded business card. “And keep an eye out.”

    All Alexander could do was nod as John turned around and walked away, disappearing into a forest of cubicles. Alexander quickly put the business card in his pocket and looked around himself before taking a right, walking down a narrow hallway until he made it to the office that was designated to be his: 17. A careful jiggling of a key, and he was in.

    God, the space was more drab than he remembered.

    The glass wall of the office overlooked a skyline that lit up the entire room, and it might have been gorgeous if not for the giant billboard that cut off the bottom half of it. As for the office itself, it was almost offensive that it was around the same size as his studio apartment. A desk faced the door, with a computer monitor and tower already set up. Some file cabinets sat against the far wall, and a shelf with metal trinkets made its own feeble attempt to be artsy. Alexander set down his briefcase on the white desk and looked around, hands on his hips. It was alright, and certainly salvageable, but, Christ, it was a mess. Aesthetically, at least. The office itself was quite well-maintained.

    He made his way around the desk to turn on the computer, which he noticed had a sticky note with the temporary username and password, as well as a scribbled note as to how to change it. Not that he really would, Alexander didn’t quite enjoy working with computers to begin with. They had no sincerity.

    Was that pretentious?

    Certainly.

    But Alexander reserved that right, what when he was being paid obscene amounts of money to sit around and make sure the business didn’t tank without his permission. So he pulled up the awkwardly uncomfortable plastic chair that matched the furniture but really wasn’t worth the look and opened up his email.

    One unread email from Washington.

    He clicked it open just as there was a knock at is door.

    Since he only had time to skim it, Alexander read something about making the most of his first day at AP and socializing with his coworkers. Sure, that could work. He could do that. He’d already socialized with one, actually, so if anything, he was ahead of the curve.

    Another knock at the door.

    He didn’t bother to minimize the tab as he rose to his feet and walked to the door opening it carefully.

    Alexander was greeted by a tall, somewhat older man wearing a three-piece suit that looked like it cost more than all the furniture in the office Alexander currently inhabited. He didn’t smile, but did hold out his hand. Because Alexander wasn’t born on a rock and did possess some degree of social graces, he shook the hand. When the man spoke, he had a deep voice and a noticeable Irish accent.

    “Welcome to the company. I’ve been hearing some pretty great shit about you, mate.” He paused, “Oh, shit, sorry about my mouth. Gets ahead of me sometimes.”

    “I really don’t mind-” Alexander insisted before getting cut off.

    “I’m Hercules. Hercules Mulligan. I don’t work on this floor. I actually work in merchandising, but a new hire is somewhat of a phenomenon around here. Decided an oddball like you was worth the trip.”

    Alexander really didn’t understand how he was supposed to respond to this. “Oh, thank you.” He said, “Though next time, you should leave the patronizing attitude back in merchandising.” As soon as he said it, Alexander was more than aware that he shouldn’t have. However, there was a certain something about saying things: they couldn’t be unsaid. All Alexander could do was stare in muted horror as he awaited the irishman’s response.

    It was a booming laugh.

    Alexander wondered just how far luck would get him in this company.


	3. Chapter 3

    After an introduction and some brief small-talk, but not before giving Alexander two separate business cards (one for his professional contact, and another for a small custom suit business he ran out of his guest room), Hercules Mulligan made some vague promise to meet Alexander again at the orientation lunch before making an exit.

    It was then, of course, that Alexander remembered that he had an orientation lunch to be in attendance at. He couldn’t skip it, either, not after he’d promised two people that he’d meet them there. Skipping out on a business function on his first day at work would surely lead to that early termination that the contract he’d read the previous night had referred to. Besides, since he didn’t have any kind of assignments to take care of, it wasn’t as if he would have any viable excuse.

    He took a seat at the desk again, taking out his phone and dialling in the contact information that Hercules and John had given to him before shoving the business cards into an empty card slot in his otherwise-empty wallet. Alexander looked around the room, reclining in his seat. He had at least three hours to blow before the lunch, and no idea how to spend them. Maybe starting some early work would reflect well on him. Thus, he opened up a word document, staring at the blinking cursor for many long seconds.

    Alexander hated using computers.

    They were so insincere.

    So he turned off the monitor and instead pulled out his AP branded moleskine and began jotting down notes. They read as follows:

 

_July 17, 2015_

_To do:_

_• Get some records on social media interactions with AP_

_• Find out who the hell runs things around here_

_• Sales information would be useful_

_• Ask what exactly this job details_

 

    The notes had been as helpful as Alexander anticipated.

    Would doing a few laps around the office to socialize with some other suits be harmful to his image? God, it was driving Alexander halfway crazy how every action he did had to be so calculated. It was cripplingly out of character for him. Why would he, the same guy who was all about seizing the moment, waste those moments worrying that he wasn’t seizing them correctly? Deciding that it was time to stop worrying, Alexander rose to his feet and left his office, phone in hand.

    He was going to have a goddamn adventure.

    The first thing Alexander did was stop by the level’s receptionist. She had a friendly face, but her playful attitude had strict undertones that Alexander couldn’t help but respect.

    “Hey.”

    “Hello.” She replied, not looking up from her computer. “How can I help you?”

    “Oh, I didn’t need help. I was just trying to get to know people around the office.”

    “Nice.” She replied, glancing up from her computer to give Alexander a very obvious, very shameless once-over before looking back at her screen. “You’re new.”

    “Yeah. Today’s my first day, actually.”

    Finally, she looked up from her computer, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “My name’s Angelica. I work here and I’m currently working on a degree in Women’s Studies at Pace. I’m so happy to hear that you’re working here. Anything I can help you with?” The monotone delivery betrayed the sympathy of the words.

    “Could you direct me to someone who’s got more than the conversational capacity of a brick wall?”

    This caused her to break into a brief smile. “Look, I just don’t have time. Being a receptionist’s a lot more than you think.”

    A chuckle from Alexander. “I doubt it. You know I started at this company as a receptionist?”

    “Oh did you?” She asked, eyebrows raised, tone pointed. “And look at you, now you make my entire year’s wages in two months. What an inspirational story. You send any of that salary back to wherever you came from?”

    Despite feeling attacked by her words, Alexander wasn’t about to let the comment go. “Well, I might have, if not for the fact that it was shut down as soon as I was promoted out of it.”

    Angelica groaned. “What a coincidence.” She glanced back at her computer screen. “So are you telling me your name or not?”

    “Alexander.”

    “Alexander.”

    “Yes.”

    “Alright, Alex. How about this? I’ll send you a list of some of the other executives on this level, and in return, you can-- God, I don’t know. You can let me go back to working on this essay.”

    She looked down at her computer. “What’s your email, now?”

    Alexander recited the address to her, and she nodded.

    “Alright, Alex. I’ll get the list to you within half an hour. Now please leave me alone.” And for a moment, she smiled. And Alexander could swear that somewhere in there, there was a small shred of sincerity. A spark of warmth. Something kind and gentle. And then it was gone as he turned around and walked away, leaving Angelica behind, but not forgetting about that warmth.

    It was only fitting that Alexander would then slam headfirst into another employee.

    Neither of them fell, but Alexander’s ego suffered grave damage. Rubbing his pained nose, Alexander looked up at the other guy.

    At least he looked remotely normal.

    “Aye, merde!”

    Jesus Christ, this had to be the most racially diverse executive branch in all of history. Alexander held out a hand. “Are- are you okay? I’m so sorry.”

    “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He said, standing up straight and letting out a sigh.

    The man Alexander was looking at was incredibly handsome. It was the only adequate descriptor. In fact, the French accent only did more in his favor. He had dark skin and wild hair that, unlike Alexander’s, looked good when it was untamed.

    It was lust at first sight.

    “Well, if I can help you at all--” Alexander said.

    “Don’t worry about it.” The man insisted.

    “I’m sorry.”

    “Don’t apologize.”

    “My name’s Alexander.” He finally said, feeling like an awkward schoolgirl.

    A smile and nod. “Lafayette.”

    What an obnoxiously French name. Alexander wanted to scream. “Nice to meet you.”

    “I only wish it hadn’t been such an unfortunate meeting.”

    Alexander laughed. “Right. Uh, right. I’m the new--”

    “The new Director of Market Operations.”

    “--Yeah.”

    “I’ve heard of you.” Lafayette explained. “You will be at the luncheon, right?”

    “I don’t have much of a choice.” Alexander replied.

    “And what will you be doing until then?”

    “Full disclosure? I’m not entirely sure right now.”

    “How about I introduce you to some other people? Just promise me you won’t headbutt them as well.” He said, playful tone making Alexander want to tear off his suit and jump out the nearest window.

    “Sure.”

* * *

    Lafayette gave Alexander the full Tour De AP. In the labyrinth of cubicles, Alexander met a series of interns and temps who worked in customer support, chatting endlessly into earpieces that looked like alien technology. They all displayed varying levels of disinterest and hatred for both Alexander and Lafayette which was, according to Lafayette’s lowered and hushed tones, because they liked to blame all of their problems on executives, which Alexander was more than willing to believe.

    After that, they ran back by Angelica, who was far more glad to see Lafayette than Alexander, but he really couldn’t blame her for that. All her attitude towards Lafayette really did for Alexander was make him wonder what he’d done to make her so bitter. Was it his face? Alexander had always been told he had a bit of an angry resting face, but he’d never imagined it would sabotage relationships before they’d even begun.

    Once they’d touched base with Angelica, they were off to Lafayette’s office, where the duo lost themselves in conversation until lunchtime.

    That was where the illusion of the perfect job was once again shattered.


	4. Chapter 4

    Like Alexander had dreaded, he was the only new hire. Was it company policy to throw these luncheons or something, then? He felt incredibly awkward being forced to attend a lunch that was all about him and would certainly garner some unwelcome questions as to what had happened to him before his miraculous transfer, and if there was anything Alexander wanted to avoid, it was the pity that would accompany this.

    But Lafayette’s calm tone as he talked to Alexander about the performance of AP’s current best-selling novel, some young adult book about a lesbian football quarterback’s journeys through her teenage years, and how it was quickly going to bring the label to the fame it deserved.

    Was AP not successful enough already? After all-- two indoor theatres? He became a little curious as to what Lafayette’s perception of success really was, but decided not to push the topic. Instead, he nodded as Lafayette escorted him to a conference room where a long table was lined with various sandwich trays and edible arrangements. Alexander glanced at Lafayette before walking in and skirting around the table and the chairs tucked under it.

    “This is a lot for a small lunch.” Alexander said as he popped a cube of some miscellaneous meat into his mouth.

    “Well, you’ll find that Washington has a flair for the finer things.”

    “So this was his idea?”

    “Yes. He wants you to feel at home, Alexander.” Lafayette explained. “According to him, you have quite a history.”

    A sudden frustration overcame Alexander. “Has Washington told everyone about my history? Was there a powerpoint on my mom’s death at last week’s meeting? Did you discuss the keynote about my dad walking out over lunch? What the hell has he told you, Lafayette?”

    The Frenchman was suddenly less amused. “Alexander--” He closed the door to the conference room. “I’ll keep this brief for you because the rest will be here soon. No one else knows as much as I do. No one. It’s simply because I have worked so long with Washington. He and I are long-time friends, and he’s mentored me since I was an intern here. The others want to get to know you, Alexander. Don’t work yourself up about it.”

    The door opened, and in strolled John from the elevator.

    Elevator John, the only person Alexander couldn’t think of a reason to hate.

    “Hey there, Alexander!” He said, practically flying across the meeting room and shaking Alexander’s hand. “How’s your first day been?”

    “Eventful, to say the least.” Alexander replied.

    “Oh?” John asked. “Tell me what’s happened.”

    So he did.

    Of course, Alexander omitted the conversation that he and Lafayette had been having before John entered, but a little lying by omission never hurt anyone. Besides, John seemed amused enough by the story. When Alexander finished, he said,

    “Sounds eventful, alright. I’m glad you got to meet Lafayette, though, he’s really helpful. A big brother of sorts, though-- though you really shouldn’t mention that to him. He’s a bit hard on the outside, soft on the inside. You know, like a macaron.”

    Alexander nodded. “Noted.”

    “And actually, you won’t be bored for long. We’re gonna be having a meeting tomorrow to sort out some things that need to get done. Like a state of the union, except Obama isn’t there and we don’t have to pretend drone attacks aren’t a problem.” John said before taking a sip of some undetermined liquid that filled several cups on the end of the table.

    “Do you know Angelica?”

    John nearly spit out his drink at the mention of her name. “The- the receptionist?”

    “Yes.”

    “What of her?”

    “I tried to talk to her and she was frigid. What’s her problem?”

    John paused. “I really don’t know. That’s pretty unusual, actually. She can be no-nonsense but she’s actually got a really nice heart. In fact, she--”

    The door opened again, and the room fell silent as everyone turned to see who walked in.

    He was frowning. Or maybe he wasn’t, maybe he just had an angry face. His suit was, of course, perfectly pressed, and he had the bearing of someone who was either overwhelmingly cocky, or had no idea what he was doing. Considering the briefcase he was carrying, Alexander’s perception of him seemed to lean towards the premier. The man was the ideal executive: brown hair with a splash of grey gelled nearly to his head, face clean-shaven, and eyes a piercing blue.

    Alexander almost felt offended about how blandly attractive he was.

    The man brushed by John and Alexander, past Lafayette who was presently eating a croissant sandwich and looking appropriately disgusted, and picked up a glass of what was definitely wine. He looked at the room of people who all looked back at him, and did nothing, taking a swig of the cup. In the uncomfortable silence, Alexander looked back at Laurens and muttered,

    “What’s his deal?”

    “That’s his deal.” He replied, “His name’s Thomas. He’s just too good for the room.”

    Alexander frowned. “Well that’s fucking ridiculous.” And, without waiting for a response from John, walked away from his coworker (and friend?) before walking up to the wine-drinking, hair-gelling, face-frowning asshole and smiling. “Good afternoon.” He held out a hand, adding, “My name’s Alexander.”

    If it was possible to describe on paper the look that Thomas gave Alexander at this motion, then the English language might have expanded threefold. It was some mixture of contempt, amusement, and astute disinterest. Regardless, he shook Alexander’s hand and nodded before taking another sip of the wine.

    Just as Alexander thought Thomas was about to ignore him entirely, he said, “It’s a pleasure.” He set down the glass on the table. “I’m Thomas. Jefferson. I’m the VP of Sales.”

    Christ. Alexander realizes that as special as he’d felt for having his position, it was nothing compared to all the other people he worked with. Sure, he’d been the cream of the crap at the old location where he’d worked, but in corporate, he was quirk to realize that he was just another notch in the executive belt. He wasn’t special, not when everyone else was just as special. He just felt inadequate.

    At a loss for words, Alexander did his best. “Nice.” He said, shutting himself up with a bite of some small ham and cheese sandwich. “I’m the new Director of Market Operations.”

    Jefferson’s deadpan expression did nothing in Alexander’s favor. “Quite a jump from-- what were you before?”

    Exercising an ungodly degree of restraint, Alexander said, “I was a regional manager.” It was technically true. Well, it actually wasn’t true at all. He was the manager of the only location in his region, so while it technically meant he was a regional manager, it was a far stretch from the truth.

    “Ah.” He said, visibly unimpressed.

    It was then that Alexander decided that he hated Thomas Jefferson.

    It was also then that he decided that he would fight fire with fire. “And where were you before you were VP?”

    Jefferson’s jaw clenched. Had Alexander unwittingly hit a nerve? “I was an intern.”

    An intern? Like Lafayette? Alexander glanced at the man in question, wondering if the two of them had any history. “Then you know Lafayette?”

    “He’s a friend.” Thomas said, in the same tone that someone would use when announcing that they hated someone and were presently searching for contract killers to take them out.

    Choosing to be the bigger man and not comment on this, or the fact that someone as animated as Lafayette could end up being friends with someone as stone-cold as Thomas, Alexander replied with a cordial nod (which he would undoubtedly master by the end of his time at AP) and said, “Well, thank you for coming here. You surely had a busy day.”

    “I had time.” Jefferson said flatly. It was almost as if he was physically incapable of admitting concern for anyone or anything other than his perfectly coiffed hair.

    Alexander smiled. “How fortunate. I’d hate to inconvenience you.”

    He had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from cursing out Thomas when he replied, saying, “It wasn’t you who coordinated this, so you couldn’t have inconvenienced me to begin with. The guy who did, however, couldn’t have picked a worse time.”

    Yeah, fuck this guy.

    “You do realize that this wasn’t mandatory, right?” Alexander asked. “Or did you forget that, because you have some ridiculous martyr complex going on right now? Actually, don’t bother answering those questions because we both know that the answers to the two of them is ‘yes’. How about this: fuck off. How about you get your free ham and salami sub, grab a bag of Lays, and get the fresh hell out of here while I get to know the people who actually see me as worthy of their time? Then we’re all happy, I’ve done all my beginning networking, and you can preserve whatever dignity being so frigid and unavailable gives you.” He was filled with the sudden urge to punctuate his monologue with a punch, and almost did.

    But Jefferson struck first with the non-verbal slap in the face that was a quick twitch of his eyebrows and a long sip of the glass of 19something-something pinot noir. He adjusted his grip on his briefcase, looked around at the rest of the silent attendants, and walked out.

    The silence hung around them like an unwelcome smog until Hercules burst in, pulling Lafayette into a warm hug, and shifting the conversation onto a topic that didn’t make everyone in the room want to gouge their eyes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4/20 haha blaze it


	5. Chapter 5

Considering the stunt that he’d pulled at the orientation lunch, things could have been a lot worse for the newly-appointed business executive Alexander Hamilton.

For one, he still had his job. 

He didn’t have much else going for him other than that. The remainder of the luncheon had been a verbal olympics, everyone present doing their best to avoid the topic of Alexander’s verbal throwdown of the much more superior, much more valuable, Thomas Jefferson. They’d jumped from a brief discussion of the bland sandwiches provided to them, to the questionable quality of the various wines and punches the caterer had given for the lunch, until they’d started talking business.

And dear God, did they talk business.

What Alexander could gather from the conversation was that his location wasn’t the only one shut down. It had been the first in what would be a rolling series of location shutdowns. Evidently, the company as a whole was tanking. This came as a surprise to Alexander, due mostly to two factors: Personal Movie Theatre 1, and Personal Movie Theatre 2. How were they buying these ridiculous accommodations for suits when most workers at the locations they were shutting down weren’t making much more than ten dollars an hour? When Alexander asked this, they burst into a flurry of technical jargon that he couldn’t bring himself to care about, but undoubtedly made some kind of depraved sense to someone who felt the need to possess two personal movie theatres.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let that go.

Once the small group (which consisted of Alexander, Hercules, Lafayette, and John) had ditched the technical talk, they discussed the personal things. Alexander learned that Hercules had a minor in fashion design and merchandising, that Lafayette had come to America to work for a company that had a model he respected, and John worked for AP because of an unwavering passion for books. Which was appreciable, despite the fact that books were really only a small part of the other materials the company published.

In fact, Alexander would have gone so far as to say that he was enjoying his day.

After the lunch, he’d grabbed several sandwiches and stacked them on a styrofoam plate, taking them back to his office and setting them down on his disgustingly minimal desk before getting to work. The first thing he saw when he turned on the dastardly computer that was like an aesthetic-compromising mole on his desk was two unread emails.

The first was from Angelica, sans title, containing a series of emails with names and brief job descriptions. 

Well, she’d certainly delivered. 

Next, however, was something much more damning than a digital repertoire of people Alexander would half-get to know and end up hating because of unfortunate decisions in the secret santa process. It was an email from Washington, titled:

 

_ SCHEDULED MEETING _

 

And containing, within its body, the most professional and official-sounding ‘you had literally one job, and still managed to fuck it up’ that he had ever read. At the end of it was an anecdote telling Alexander to see Washington in his office as soon as he’d read the email. 

A soft groan. 

Alexander took the opportunity to drown his feelings in another tasty but dry sandwich before rising to his feet and taking his own personal walk of shame past Angelica, beyond Lafayette, and stopping at the door to Washington’s office.

He knocked.

“Come in.” Washington said in a tone entirely too cool for someone who’d written three paragraphs on proper workplace etiquette. 

“Good afternoon, Washington.”

“Call me George.”

Alexander was definitely  not going to call him George. “Right. Sir, your email--”

“Right. Can you tell me what happened at today’s luncheon?”

“Yes. Thomas was acting out of line, so I told him what I thought.”

“And what exactly did he do that was out of line?”

“He- uh,” Alexander struggled to think of anything exactly, “He was acting like he didn’t want to be there, like we were a burden on him. He didn’t even have to show up to begin with, he was trying to make us all feel bad about it. He even belittled me for coming here from an hourly job.”

Washington let out a sigh, leaning forward in his chair and folding his hands on his desk, possibly the most businessman-like gesture Alexander had ever seen. “Alexander, did he say anything directly to you that was derogative?”

“No.”

“Did you ever ask him to stop?”

“No.”

“Then he isn’t at fault. Alexander--” He glanced up at his door, rising to his feet and crossing the office to shut it before sitting back down to face Alexander. “You need to understand that there’s a certain set of politics that come with working on the executive level. People like Thomas are going to be everywhere. That’s just who he is, son. He’s an indispensable asset to the company, and he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But-- but he  did !” Alexander insisted.

Washington held up a silencing hand. “Alexander. I understand that Thomas is someone who can be difficult to work with, but it’s in your best interest to try and at least tolerate him. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that the two of you have a lot in common. And don’t read too far into that. What I’m trying to tell you is that you nearly lost your job today. I-- Alexander, you have to smile and wave at some of the things that are said to you in the walls of this business. You still have your job, and there aren’t going to be any repercussions. But Alexander--”

“Yes?”

“Please, try to be civil. You performance for the next few months is key, because you’re not the only one whose neck is on the line now. That will be all. Thank you for your time, Alexander.”

“But sir-”

“Goodbye, Alexander.”

A long pause sat between the two as Alexander contemplated the repercussions of speaking up to Washington. However, considering the fact that Washington had evidently done a lot to preserve Alexander’s job, he had to respect the old fart. He rose to his feet and walked out, calling up on the entire heavenly host of saints to fill him with the restraint it took not to slam the door.

They delivered, and he went to his office, shutting off his computer and picking up his briefcase, exiting the building in a spiteful flurry. By the time he was on the bottom floor, he was ready to scream. This was not part of his plan. This was not part of the dream Alexander had seen when he was told he’d be working in corporate. He had so much more than a job at stake: he had a legacy. Without a job, without this position, he would lose his legacy.

This was the truth: Alexander had nothing to go back home to. Nevis was miserable and small, and while it had its cities, there was nothing there for him. Alexander was bigger than those cities, he’d always been out of place there. If he came back, he’d only be reminded every single day of the fact that he’d blown his only chance at ascending his social and economic status. And Alexander Hamilton knew that he deserved better than that.

He had a host of people to prove wrong. As he was jostled in the subway on its trip across the city, Alexander couldn’t get his mind off of what was at stake. After his mother’s death, he’d had enough of a chip on his shoulder about making himself into something amazing, but when his father had walked out and left him for damn near dead, Alexander had more than a grudge: he had a challenge. He had a fight, and he was sure as hell going to win, if not at least go down swinging.

Washington had stepped in for Alexander this once.

This once, the universe had given Alexander a ‘get out of jail free’ card.

He wasn’t about to ask for this same charity again.

No, as he opened up his apartment and set down his briefcase on the fake marble counter in his almost-kitchen, Alexander knew that he would do anything to succeed, even if it meant compromising some morals to deal with sticks in the mud like Thomas Jefferson. And god, it pained Alexander. It killed him to know that he’d have to silence any part of himself to make the dreams he’d always strived for to actually happen.

But what was his other option? Losing his job and being broke in an apartment he couldn’t afford on his own in a city he didn’t know? 

No. Alexander would confess his undying love to every Thomas Jefferson in AP’s executive branch before he lost his job. 

And then he got another email, and was beyond ready to send his phone flying at the nearest wall when he read a title:

 

_ NOTIFICATION OF MEETING SCHEDULED _

 

He had a meeting the next day, and, because God and George Washington hated him, Thomas Jefferson would be in attendance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, uploading all of the first five chapters at once was much more gratifying than I'd initially anticipated. 
> 
> I'm probably going to keep uploading the chapters in three more five-chapter chunks just because it gets me to actually plan out what I'm going to do, instead of run in guns blazing.
> 
> This is definitely a tonal break from the rest of my writing, but trust me that there is a certain volta coming, and it will kill you to read and me to write.
> 
> As always, you can find me on twitter at hercmullligan with 3 l's because I'm a fake fan, and kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's another five chapters! You aren't ready.
> 
> Or maybe you are.

     Because Alexander knew that Jefferson would be in attendance at the day’s meeting, he put extra care into picking out his best (read: still only) suit for the occasion. He decided that slicking back his hair was a futile effort, and allowed the ginger waves to curl freely. There hadn’t been a dress code further than “look presentable”, so anyone who had a problem with his natural-- and, quite frankly, majestic-- hair could kindly kiss his ass. Besides, Alexander had a statement to make to Jefferson: he had a different and new way of doing things, and it was throw Jefferson to the most goddamn terrifying loop of his entire life.

     That, and Alexander just wanted to get under Jefferson’s skin.

     That was the real curse of hating someone: they were always in your thoughts. From the moment Alexander had woken up, Jefferson had been on his mind. The pretentious, silent, disinterested, detached asshole refused to budge from the center of all of Alexander’s functions. Even as Alexander left his house with his trusty AP mug, soon melting into the molasses of the morning rush hour, he couldn’t help but wonder distantly if Jefferson took the bus, too. Probably not. He likely had some ridiculously pretentious gilded stretch with a french chauffeur named Jean-Claude who took him on a daily tour-de-douche. He could probably afford a grande coffee every morning.

     What a fucking asshole.

     Walking into the AP office was a lot less charming the second time. Everything was so opulent, it just made Alexander feel like he was lying to everyone. He wasn’t nearly as valuable as the smallest lightbulb on the likely million-dollar chandelier that hung in the lobby. Christ, he knew it better than anyone else how much of a liability was. He’d almost lost his job on the first day, and while the feat might have been admirable to the right person, Alexander could only see it as cocky and dangerous.

     That wouldn’t stop him from doing it again, because in case you have forgotten, he was Alexander Hamilton, and he did whatever he damn well pleased.

     John was by the elevator again. He might have waited for Alexander, or it might have just been a happy coincidence. Alexander gave himself the luxury of not thinking too hard about it.

     “Good morning, Alexander.”

     “Hey.” Alexander replied, preventing having to say anything more to John by taking a sip of his coffee.

     “You ready for your first meeting ever?”

     No. “Yeah.”

     “You know Thomas is gonna be there, right?”

     Yeah. “Sure.”

     “Just, uh, some friendly advice, but try to avoid arguing with him again.”

     “Friendly advice?” Alexander asked. “Just sounded like patronization to me.”

     John seemed taken aback by the remark, and Alexander was reminded once again that businessmen didn’t like hearing the truth. They liked being coddled.

     Alexander didn’t do coddling.

     They entered the elevator silently, and the doors thankfully closed before anyone else could come in. Alexander wasn’t sure if he could handle anyone other than John. Not on the day where he knew he’d have to spend at least thirty to fourty-five minutes in close proximity to Thomas Jefferson.

     “Y’know, Alexander, I like you.”

     That was unexpected. “Thanks?”

     “I just like your honesty. It’s nice to have someone here who doesn’t care about putting on airs.” The elevator doors opened and they exited side by side. “You just need to realize that I might as well be the only person who likes it.”

     Alexander nodded, still reeling from the fact that John (or anyone, really) had complimented him. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”

     John replied with a nod and a smile and walked away, probably off to unintentionally brighten up someone else’s day, and Alexander went to his office.

     By the time he was situated at his desk, he only had about half an hour before the meeting was supposed to start. After he re-read the email he’d received, he was beyond relieved to find out that it was more of an informational meeting than anything else, meaning he wouldn’t have to present anything. This was a good thing, of course, considering the fact that Alexander had done absolutely nothing since he’d started his job two days previous.

     Alexander’s business email was almost depressingly empty. Angelica’s email with various contacts still sat there, as did the two emails from Washington, but that was about it.

     He suddenly felt very, very small.

     In a desperate attempt to avoid the existential crisis that Alexander knew he would inevitably have to confront, he chugged is still-scalding coffee, ignoring that his tongue was practically melting under the heat of the drink.

     He was fine.

     The next half-hour or so was spent updating his address book to reflect the borderline-creepy amount of contacts Angelica had provided Alexander with, then starting a report on a folder that had been dropped on his desk by some pale-faced intern. It was a list of company activities, and the subsequent profits. It didn’t really seem like something that belonged in Alexander’s job description, but considering the fact that he didn’t know what his job description was, he was willing to settle.

     One bar graph later, it was time to go to the meeting. Alexander ran his fingers through his hair and rose to his feet, grabbing his phone and moleskine, walking to the meeting room that had been designated in the email.

     Of course it was the same room where the luncheon had been the day previous, but transformed radically by the lack of party subs and sensible servings of wine. The table was a deep brown, gorgeously maintained and unbearably gorgeous.

     Speaking of unbearably gorgeous, Lafayette had already arrived. Today’s suit was a gorgeous ivy-colored thing, complete with long coattails and gold lining. He was like some kind of sexually-charged Willy Wonka, and Alexander couldn’t help but take the seat next to the abstractly breathtaking executive, who almost immediately recognized him.

     “Good morning, Alexander.” He said with a smile so flawless that Alexander wanted to punch him.

     “Good morning.” Alexander said, realizing that he had come to the meeting tragically under-equipped: lafayette had a laptop open to an empty word document, and a comically thick packet of papers that looked way too official for someone who looked like an eccentric orchestra conductor.

     “I heard that Washington gave you quite the talking to.”

     Alexander frowned.

     “So it’s true.”

     “Yeah.” Alexander muttered with a shrug “Didn’t know word got around so fast.”

     “Well, when someone gives Thomas a piece of their mind, people talk.”

     “He’s that respected?”

     “Not respected. Feared.”

     Just then, the clean-shaven, well-groomed man in question entered, carefully-gelled hair glistening almost mockingly in the fluorescent lights of the meeting room. He took a seat, looking at both Lafayette and Alexander and saying nothing, opening up his laptop, typing furiously.

     Of fucking course he typed flawlessly.

* * *

     Within the next few minutes, the rest of the attendees at the meeting shuffled in one by one, opening up their busywork and beginning to labor away as if they had some reason to do so beyond a superficial hatred for the tragically shallow small talk that they would otherwise be forced to partake in. When Washington entered, clicking keyboards fell silent in respect of his authority. He took a seat and gave the rest of the room a stiff and formal smile before saying,

     “Good morning, everyone. I know we all have places to be, so I’ll do my best to keep this business brief. As you know, our company’s condition is currently questionable at best. We’ve been closing locations frequently, and losing money rapidly. So, we’ve decided to launch an investigation into our company’s spending. Something’s been done wrong with our company’s finances, and that is why we’re conducting this on an executive level.

     “Working at the head of this operation will be the CFO and Director of Market Operations.”

     In movies, when bad things happen, there’s a sort of reverence. Time slows down, and both the characters and the audience have the time to reflect on what exactly is happening to them. They have time to adjust to the shock, the exit from the dark tunnel of joy to the bright surface of despair.

     For Alexander Hamilton, such was not the case. This misfortune hit him like someone splashing a bucket of water on him: fast, frigid, terrifying, and altogether unwelcome. He was being assigned to work with Thomas Jefferson on an investigation into the company that he barely knew about. Alexander spared a glance at Lafayette, who seemed all but indifferent to the entire affair, idly typing notes as Washington continued.

     Of course, it was just his luck.

     You don’t get what you want without losing what you need. Thus, Alexander looked out the window behind Washington and watched as the last shred of his dignity fluttered away, out the windowpane, into the unforgiving skyline of New York City.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

     “Is this a joke?”

     Alexander had interrupted Washington in his shock, eliciting an uncomfortable look from John.

     “I’m sorry?” Washington said, looking deeply offended that Alexander had spoken up.

     “Is. This. A. Joke?”

     “No.”

     “You’re putting me and Jefferson together? Seriously?” Alexander made no effort to hide his frustration. “Did you forget how poorly we worked together to begin with?”

     “Consider it a team-building exercise. Please, Hamilton, take a seat.”

     He had absolutely no interest in taking any of the dozen seats in the room.

     It was then that Lafayette-- of all people-- gently gripped Alexander’s wrist, yanking on it gently. Somehow, likely through some unreal psychic link, Alexander knew that he had gone far enough. He took a seat, opening up his moleskine and frowning deeply, back as straight as a rule.

     Once he was seated, Washington paid a passing glance with a flickered smile to Lafayette before returning to instructions and assignments for the rest of the team.

     Alexander, entirely disillusioned with the meeting as a whole, spent the rest of the meeting scribbling notes to himself as to exactly what he would say to Washington to try and end the cooperation before it even began. At this point, it was for the best not only of the company, but for Alexander’s sanity. He couldn’t deal with Jefferson’s smug attitude, or the way his hair was always fucking perfectly gelled, or that suit that for all intents and purposes should have been tacky, but flattered his broad flame. None of it would be any good for Alexander’s sanity.

* * *

     Washington didn’t rise from his seat after the meeting, almost as if he knew Alexander would have his own piece to say once the whole thing had blown over. And of course, Washington’s supposed hunch was exactly right. It took no time for Alexander to rise to his feet, not bothering to check if the room was empty before saying,

     “It’s only going to cause the company more harm.”

     “I’m sorry?” Washington asked, leaning back in his chair, almost as if he were amused by Alexander’s frustration.

     “Jefferson and I. We shouldn’t be working together. Please, get an intern to do it, I’ll help them. I just-- I can’t be alone with him, Washington. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

     “If you’ve bitten your tongue long enough to end up here, then you can bite it long enough to finish this job. I assigned both you and Thomas specifically because I know you share the skillset to finish the task efficiently. If I thought someone else could have done it instead of you, I would have given it to them.”

     “I won’t do it.”

     “Then you will lose your job.”

     Alexander wanted to punch Washington in his sharp and oddly strong-looking jaw. But he didn’t. Because he was a good person.

     Unlike Jefferson.

     Instead, he picked up his moleskine in an angry flourish and walked out of the meeting room.

     He then, because God and the fates hated him, went headlong into Jefferson’s shockingly firm chest.

     The asshole.

     “Thomas--” It was the beginning of a sentence Alexander had no intention to finish.

     “Alexander.” Thomas didn’t even seem to bother making it sound like he had anything more to say.

     “If we’re going to be working together, I’d like to have some kind of contact with you.”

     “I gave you my card.”

     “Right.” Alexander said, trying to cover for his own flustered forgetfulness. “We should organize some kind of meeting to talk over what we’ll be doing.”

     “We know what we’re going to be doing, Alexander.” Thomas said, tone full of some kind of sadistic amusement.”

     “I’m talking about the specifics. Surely you don’t intend to do this all on your own.”

     “Absolutely not.” Thomas replied with a laugh. “How about you come back to my office with me and we can discuss this civilly?”

     Alexander wasn’t sure if he could. “Sure.”

     If lying were the food of business, Alexander was soon to develop an eating disorder.

* * *

     Jefferson’s office was what Alexander imagined an office would look like if Xzhibit had ever gotten his grubby, pimping hands on it. The chair was leather, the desk a gorgeous mahogany, and paintings Alexander was confident were authentic lining walls. The entire thing smelled rather charmingly of the woods.

     Alexander decided almost immediately that he hated it.

     He took a seat in a despicably comfortable chair, watching as Jefferson shrugged off his jacket and sat down in a similar, but somehow visibly more comfortable, chair. For a long moment, they glared at one another silently. “Awkward” wasn’t the right word, because they definitely had a reason for the silence. Alexander studied the loathsome features of Jefferson: a strong, square face and greying hair cropped and coiffed to perfection. He had the kind of build Alexander would expect shoving someone in possession of a much lankier, skinnier build into a locker in a high school.

     “Alexander.” Thomas said, leaning back in his seat. “Tell me what you expect to do.”

     “Well, look into the company’s finances. That’s what Washington wanted, after all.”

     “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

     Puzzled, Alexander said, “We’d have to get financial reports from the locations that are open. Maybe we could make a spreadsheet and sort it all out. It’ll take a day or so to sort out the--”

     “For someone who’s so damn smart, you really are clueless.”

     Flattery? “What?”

     “I want to know what you intend to achieve in this company.”

     “I--” Was this a trick question? Alexander crossed his legs. “I just want to hold my position. Make some money, do my job. I-- that’s it.”

     “That’s it?” Evidently, the answer Alexander had given was not the answer Thomas was looking for. “I don’t like you, Alexander, but I want to know I can trust you to get this job done. If you don’t even have any plans, I don’t know if you’re worth the effort it’ll take to collaborate on this.”

     “I have dreams, Thomas. I- they just aren’t in this company. I don’t see myself in this job forever.”

“If you aren’t playing for keeps, why the hell are you on the field?”

Despite how angry the words made Alexander, he couldn’t ignore the truth. “Because I have to. This promotion brought me to America, somewhere I might have never seen if I hadn’t accepted the offer. I don’t have the liberty of choosing how I succeed, or even that I succeed at all.” Alexander sighed. “Once I find a job doing what I love, I’ll be gone.”

“Fine. Fine.” Jefferson sighed and took a sip out of a coffee mug. “I’d like to have the reports on my desk in two days.”

“That’s pretty damn ambitious of you.” Alexander replied.

“I’m taking a chance on you.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to--” Jefferson stopped himself. “Because I’m testing you. I won’t be the first person you work with who you hate, and our cooperation won’t be the worst thing to happen to you.”

**Alexander pursed his lips and nodded. “I’ll have those reports the day after tomorrow.”**


	8. Chapter 8

     Alexander didn’t get the reports for Jefferson within the two days he’d promised.

     In fact, he didn’t get them at all.

     Two weeks later, he was up shit creek, sans any sign of a paddle.

     In his defense, it wasn’t his fault. Alexander had done everything he could, first emailing the managers of each location, then calling them, then physically mailing them, then faxing them. He even considered smoke signals as an alternative for a few minutes. What reports he did get back were so few that Alexander couldn’t get any real evidence from them. And he was fucked.

     He knew he was fucked.

     Maybe it was Jefferson’s incessant emails, or Washington’s endless inquiries, or the way that even Lafayette had offered a helping hand. Regardless, the stars were lining up in the worst way. Alexander wasn’t going to have the assignment done on time.

     His first, debatably more rational reaction, was to tell Jefferson.

     He took it as well as anyone could imagine.

* * *

     “Take a seat, Alexander.”

     They were on a first name basis. Great. Alexander took the seat. “I’m here to talk about the financial records.”

     “You got them?” The restrained surprise on Jefferson’s face made Alexander’s stomach churn.

     “No.”

     The completely indifferent expression that came over Jefferson made Alexander’s heart fall into his gut. “You didn’t get the documents.”

     “Well, not all of them. I got the records of a few locations.” Hamilton explained, pulling the aforementioned documents from a manilla folder. “Seven altogether. Seven out of the hundreds I contacted. More than just by phone,” Hamilton said, shocked by his own sudden concern for Jefferson’s opinion of him, “I emailed them and called them and faxed them-- I did everything I could. I got seven.”

     “That’s not enough, Alexander. We--”

     “I know. But-- but, I don’t-- I don’t know.” He said, dropping the papers on the table. “I thought you’d have done something.”

     Jefferson paused. “I.”

     It was a sentence. The entire thing, it was all he had to say. It was disheartening, and Alexander wanted to run out of the room and keep going until he never had anything to do with that hell room and the shit city ever again. “You-- didn’t do anything, did you?”

     “Of course I did.”

     “What was it?”

     “I put together a presentation, but there’s a lot of blanks. Blanks that I was expecting you to fill.”

     “And-- and we’re supposed to present it today, aren’t we?”

     “Yes.”

     It was then that Alexander realized the all-too-unwelcome reality that he might lose his job. He looked at Thomas, and then faced the also unwelcome and also real truth that Jefferson had nothing to lose. After all, Alexander knew that every conniving bone in Jefferson’s body would throw him under the bus.

     Alexander pursed his lips. “What are we going to do?”

     “Well,” Jefferson said, crossing his arms, “We’re going to give a presentation.”

     “With nothing?”

     “Alexander-- Alexander, I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

     “Me neither.”

     A heavy silence sat on Alexander’s shoulders and chests like a thousand pounds. He stood up. “I should get ready to go.”

     The lack of pity on Jefferson’s countenance didn’t affect Hamilton this time. Instead, he just nodded at the blank look and turned to walk out the door of the office. He had to get ready to go. Permanently.

     At least Alexander’s decision not to decorate had paid off.

     The blank office seemed to mock Alexander in its simplicity. All he had to signal that he had been there at all was a small statue Mulligan had given him a few days previous, of a horse whose hair flowed freely in the wind. Alexander felt like he didn’t deserve it. Or anything, really. He knew it. He should have mentioned his failure sooner, but he hadn’t. He’d kept it from Jefferson, and it had of course bitten him in the ass.

     Alexander sat down in his chair and looked around the office, echoes of what might have been. It didn’t blanket him, that was too friendly. It consumed him, it swallowed him up, suffocating him on nostalgia for something he’d never see.

     Lafayette came in.

     “Alexander, mon ami.” He said, stunning smile mocking Alexander in its perfection.

     “What is it?”

     “I thought I should invite you to a dinner to celebrate a near-month of your employment. What do you think?”

     The words were like being stabbed, minus the dramatic effect of the knife. “I-- sure.”

     “Lovely.” Lafayette replied. “Are you too busy tonight?”

     No. Or for the next few weeks, depending on how long it’d take for him to get to find another job. “No.”

     “Then it’s a date. I hope it’s no problem that I also invited Hercules and John.”

     “No, the more the merrier.” Alexander said, fake smile plastered to his face.

     Lafayette nodded. “What keeps you so quiet, my friend?”

     “Nothing.” Alexander said. “I’m just anxious.”

     “Oh, yes. You have your presentation today, don’t you?” Lafayette said. “Don’t worry about it. Your way with words will work for you.”

     It hadn’t worked so far. Alexander nodded. “Thank you, Lafayette.”

     “You’re still upset.”

     “Lafayette-- you’re friends with Thomas, right?”

     “Yes.”

     Deciding he wouldn’t comment on Lafayette’s ability to befriend the physical embodiment of garbage, Alexander said, “I need you to talk to him.”

     “I’m no diplomat.” Lafayette told Hamilton.

     “I-- I know. But I need to get on his good side.”

     “That would be hard, even for myself.”

     “Lafayette.” Alexander insisted, “I just need to know that he’s ready for tonight, that he knows what he’ll be doing.”

     “Alexander, what aren’t you telling me?”

     “Well--”

     This was when John walked in, holding an iPad, completely unaware of the tension in the room. He smiled at Alexander and Lafayette with a sickening kindness that made Alexander feel only slightly warmer than before. “Hey folks!”

     Lafayette and Alexander exchanged a look. “Hey.” Alexander replied.

     “Washington sent me to let you know that the meeting’s been moved. We have a company event this afternoon, so we’ve adjusted the entire office schedule.”

     “To when’s it been moved?” Alexander asked.

     John pursed his lips. “Half an hour.”

     Alexander was ready to throw himself headlong out the window behind him. Instead, he stood up and nodded.

     He was about to face his career’s death in the face.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

     The meeting room looked like a graveyard. Leather chairs stood like headstones marking the death of Alexander’s dreams. The sun fell behind a skyscraper, drenching the room in a thick darkness, and Alexander crossed to where the projector sat. Sure enough, it had a flash drive plugged in. Without a doubt, the unfinished powerpoint sat waiting to expose the truth of Alexander’s own incompetence to the men who surely had anticipated it.

     Jefferson entered.

     The two stood facing each other, across the room. The silence deafened Alexander.

     “Thomas.”

     “Alexander.”

     Thomas crossed the room to look at the projector, turning it on. As it shuddered to life, Alexander took half a step away from him. “Are you ready?”

     “No.”

     Alexander couldn’t help but appreciate Thomas’s honesty. “Neither am I.”

     Thomas looked at him. “If you’re looking for pity, I’m not the right place to search.”

     “I’m not. I just wanted to know how royally fucked I am.”

     Again, an entry cut off the person Alexander was talking to. Washington strolled in with John at his side, crossing the room in a few long strides and taking a seat. John followed suit, and the two chatted with lowered voices. Alexander looked up at the deceptively optimistic first slide and read it.

 

_FINANCIAL TRENDS AND THEIR EFFECT ON COMPANY PERFORMANCE_

 

     Definitely more sophisticated than the almost juvenile paranoia that slowly flooded Alexander’s systems as he watched Lafayette, as few as several very responsible-looking officials Alexander had never seen before, walk in.

     Washington was the first to speak.

     “Welcome, peers. Today we’ll be discussing the issue of our company’s finances.” Even Washington seemed strangely off-put, despite having no idea what was going on with the presentation. Which, comically enough, made him the third person who was able to say the third time. “The presentation has been prepared by our CFO and Director of Market Operations. They’ve gathered financial records and will hopefully shed some light on the issues at hand.”

     Well, he was kind of right.

     There would be issues.

     Alexander looked at the powerpoint, and then at Thomas, and back at the screen.

     “Good afternoon.” Alexander finally choked out, “I’m Alexander Hamilton, Director of Market Operations. This is Thomas Jefferson, the Chief Financial Officer of AP. And we’re going to be-- well, we’ll be presenting this to you. The presentation.” Deciding to remove his foot from his mouth and attempt to not make too much of an ass of himself, Alexander looked at Thomas, who clicked the next slide button. It was Thomas’s turn to talk.

     “As you all can tell, our company’s financial trends have been nothing but negative. We’ve been marking down our numbers in red ink for the past five years. Look at this-- the only area we’ve been making money in is ad revenue, which is frankly pathetic. None of the projected numbers for our sales have been remotely accurate, and we can’t handle to float a sinking ship much longer. What we hope to do with the information we are about to present is prove to you that the issue in the company is much greater than you might anticipate. The material might shock you, but-- well,”

     Permitting himself to space out for a moment, Alexander decided that Jefferson’s words (which were starting to sound suspiciously like a clickbait article headline) weren’t worth the attention he was giving them. Instead, he tried desperately to tread the water of his thoughts. What would he say when the next slide came up blank? Laugh and play it off as a joke? Tell the truth?

     “Alexander? Alexander?”

     He looked up from the floor to which his gaze had fallen, and realized that Jefferson was looking at him.

     “The next slide, are you ready?”

     “Right. Yeah.” Alexander replied flatly. “Let’s go.”

     And there it was, beige and disgusting, no title, no words. Nothing. Just an abyss of beige.

     The room was obviously observant enough to know this wasn’t intentional. Alexander clapped his hands together. “Alright, you may be wondering why these are empty.” He was, too.

     Every suit in the room looked like it wanted to laugh at Alexander, and he didn’t blame them. He pursed his lips and felt the silence begin to suffocate him again, long slender fingers of everyone else’s judgement closing in on his pale throat. Suddenly, he wished he’d put his hair up that day, what with the heat he suddenly felt.

     And then Jefferson spoke.

     “These slides are empty because we couldn’t get the numbers from almost all of the locations our company still has left standing.” He said, “This is when we discovered that the greatest issue in our company isn’t finances, it’s management. When one of us sends emails, places phone calls, contacts locations by posts, and even resorts to fax, and can’t even get a few simple numbers to put together a presentation. We have an issue bigger than logistics: it’s semantics. We need to overhaul our management system. More rigorous interviews, careful background checks, and specific qualifications are just the beginning.”

     It was then that Alexander took what had to be the greatest risk of his brief professional career thus far. “If I can be promoted from a management position in one of your offshore locations without having a formal job interview to being Director of Market Operations, there’s a problem in your hierarchy.” The look Jefferson gave him was deadly. “W- what you need to focus on is running the business smarter.”

     A long, devastating pause.

     Then, the quiet clapping that Alexander could only assume was the way that businesspeople showed appreciation for something. Like art, or golf.

     He slowly walked to his seat, sinking into the comfortable leather and remaining silent for a moment. Jefferson, still having not taken a seat, said,

     “Any questions?”

     A heavy silence, and then Washington spoke.

     “This is debatably the best cover for an ill-prepared presentation I’ve ever seen.” He said. The words were cutting, and broke right through the sneaking confidence Alexander had been feeling after he and Thomas had thought of something to say. “But it does answer questions about our finances, so I suppose I can’t fault you at that.”

     “We’re going to be working with you more,” One of the unfamiliar suits said with a tone of decisiveness. “You’ve pointed out a pretty ambitious and glaring confidence an issue in our company that can likely justify the poor financial records. If reports have been gathered os slowly, than undoubtedly, our math has been off-- for better or for worse.”

     Alexander nodded. “The problem is that we’ll probably have to lay off…. quite a few people. WHich will cut our legitimate revenue--”

     “Well, it’s too early to make those decisions.” Jefferson interjected. “Thank you for your time, our presentation is over.

     And finally, Thomas took a seat, reclining in the leather chair like it didn’t have his name etched into it. The sun came out from behind the skyscraper.

     Jefferson smiled.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

     Alexander Hamilton knew one thing to be true: a crush is nothing more than infatuation for the first eight months you know someone. After that, it’s legitimate love.

     Since he’d only known Thomas Jefferson for only a month and a half, he refused to believe he felt anything more than a n objective attraction to the man’s features. After all, he did have a sort of orderly, wise charm about himself. Granted, the charm would be much more obvious if he made any attempt at showing more emotions than simple muted disdain, but the intrigue of it only made Alexander more curious.

     After their clutch victory in the meeting room, Alexander went into Thomas’s office, not even bothering to ask for permission. He stood alone in the space for some time, and took the pause to examine one of the paintings that hung in Thomas’s office. It was a piece by Egon Schiele. The subject was a thin-looking male, arms contorted into a contemplative but pained gesture. The painting looked like it’d been created in some hysterical rush. Alexander was about to take a step toward it when Jefferson entered.

     “Alexander.”

     “Thomas.”

     They looked at one another for a long moment.

     “Thomas?”

     “Yes?”

     “Why did you save me? When we got to the empty slide, I mean.”

     Thomas paused. His hair suddenly looked a bit greyer than before, face slightly sharper. “I--” It was his turn to be speechless. “No one deserves to lose their job due to the incompetence of others.”

     Not satisfied with the answer (or, perhaps, hoping there was more to it), Alexander pushed further. “But you told me when we first spoke about this that I didn’t deserve to keep it. My job, I mean.”

     “That was several weeks ago. Things change, Alexander.”

     “Like what?”

     Something told Alexander that Jefferson was catching on. “What are you expecting me to say?”

     “I want you to give me a reason. I mean, the first interaction we had was so violent that it almost resulted in me losing my job. When we met to discuss this, you said I was too indifferent to deserve any future with this company. What changed?” At this point, Alexander was straining to keep his voice below a shout.

     Thomas, calculated and calm as ever, walked to where Alexander stood and put a hand on his shoulder. “Alexander, you have been working tirelessly. While I still resent that you failed to get the information you needed, your incessant labor speaks volumes about your capacity as an employee. That’s why I was so surprised when you claimed you only earned your position as a matter of luck. You work harder than anyone I know-- harder, debatably, than even Washington. You keep the pulse of this company closely, and I wasn’t about to let you fall from success because this company is run by morons.”

     Alexander, breathless and entirely too close to Thomas, took a half step away, causing the other man’s hand to fall from his shoulder. “Thank you.”

     Why was his vest suddenly so tight? Why were his lungs suddenly so weak? Alexander crossed his arms and took another step away from Thomas. The silence became so much more than a lack of words, it became an absence of words, a place where things should have been said, but remained unspoken.

     The most deadly lies are those told by omission.

     Alexander finally said, “Well-- thank you.”

     “Don’t mention it.”

     Something told Alexander that Thomas meant it much more literally than he let on.

     He knew that this was the part where he was supposed to leave, but he suddenly didn’t want to. He wanted to stay in the office with Thomas and make some sorry attempt at forgetting their previous injuries. “Some of-- some of the guys and I are getting dinner this evening. Do you think you’d like to join us?”

     At this time, Jefferson had been setting his briefcase on his desk, having walked away from Alexander. At the request, his head snapped to face Alexander, who found himself quite surprised by Thomas’s reaction. Had it been out of line.

     “To dinner?” Jefferson asked, tone fragile.

     Alexander paused. “Yes. I mean, if you’re still too much of a hardass to tag along, I respect that.”

     “Who else is going to be there?”

     “Uh, shit--” Alexander struggled to remember. The entire morning was consumed by this paranoid haze-- “Lafayette, John, and I. Hercules, too.”

     Jefferson nodded. Was that a yes? “Thank you for the invitation. Let me think about it. What time is the dinner?”

     “Nine, I think.” Alexander said. “I can send you the details.”

     “I don’t remember giving you my phone number.”

     Alexander shrugged. “I’m sure you know how to work an email inbox. Check it in a few minutes.”

* * *

     True to his word, Alexander sent Thomas the email a few minutes later. It read:

 

_The dinner’s at Verde, down the street from the office._

_It’s a little Cali-Mex place, it’ll be hard to miss._

_Meet us there at 8. Or don’t._

_See you?_

_:)_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Second update finished! This one took a little long because I struggled with setting up a few events to be resolved in the next update. Regardless, thank you.
> 
> You can find me on twitter @hercmullligan (3 l's because I am a monster). 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!


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